Lady Macbeth
by eclipsedragon
Summary: Having fled the camp, Matthew searches for Leila's killer. But will he lose his own soul in the process? Writing paused until my writer's block with this fic goes away. It SHALL be continued when my inspiration decides to show up!
1. Chapter 1: Lady Macbeth

All Fall Down

Lady Macbeth.

There she was, just a corpse lying on the ground. It wasn't Leila anymore – the soul of his love had departed from this body, and she was nowhere to be found. Only this mass of flesh and blood and clothing and steel that had once been part of her remained, and he could feel no sorrow for that. Why couldn't he cry? Why couldn't he? He wanted to cry, wanted all the grief and horror and loss to gush from the hurt in his heart. But he was frozen: couldn't melt those feelings, couldn't lose them in the tears that weren't there. What was wrong with him? She was his betrothed, for Elimine's sake, his betrothed! So why was he standing there with no expression?

He should be doing something now. What was it? Matthew tried to focus through the mist in his head that was madness, telling him this was all wrong, all wrong… Ah. Burying her. That was what he should do. Stupid. He had no shovel. Should have brought one from Badon. Gasps of laughter burst from his throat then. Brought a shovel with him, on the off-chance that he would be burying his own girlfriend? How would he have known? He would have to cut the earth with his sword, because he hadn't - Wait, wait. This was wrong. It shouldn't be happening this way. How could he be laughing, when he was so clearly standing next to…next to…Matthew gagged, but he was still laughing and it suddenly sounded like a death rattle…had she made that noise as she – No! He mustn't think about that. He couldn't think about that. He should concentrate on digging.

_Scuff! _His dagger bit into the soil.

_Scuff! Scuff!_ Matthew could tell exactly how she had been killed – evaluating wounds had been part of his training. Her attacker would have come up behind her, knives positioned like _so, _and would have then struck fast, too fast to dodge, and then the blood…the blood…

It was rising up in his vision now; he could see her face as she died, but he hadn't been there, couldn't have. He looked down at the floor, but it was spinning and twisting away from him when he tried to keep his balance, and then he was falling. Where was the ground? He should have hit it by now, but it wasn't there anymore, and all that was left was the blood: the blood, and the nightmare he couldn't dispel.


	2. Chapter 2: Weakness

I'm sorry that chapter 2 took ages. I had so much to do! Ugh...so much work...I think I'm going to die of work...yow... I'm sorry it's so short as well. It filled a whole page on Word. One beautifully long page, and then when I loaded it onto the internet, once again, it just...meh. Soy deprimida porque no puedo escribir los cuentos largos...(I think...)...Me gusta hablar espanol! (Someone please tell me if I got that right...there was no insert accent option...) Oh! By the way, the tense changes are intentional. Please don't blame me for any inconsistency in this story (I'm sleep deprived! Kyaaaah!), but instead please notify me of it kindly (no flames, please!). Wow...how many brackets did I just write in? Anyway, thank-you to The Serenity, Herr Wozzeck, and Jelly .Belly .Monster for reviewing.

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Eclipsedragon does not own Fire Emblem, Microsoft Word, Microsoft or anything else mentioned here.

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Chapter 2: Weakness.

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The eye of the narrator rises now, watches one stumbling figure trudge back to the army. Matthew knows where he is going but walks as if he is lost; leaving the path only to swerve back onto it occasionally; always tripping, never falling. The narrator sees his eyes rise to the makeshift camp at the end of the road, sees his pupils dilate in surprise. Looks at the world from Matthew's viewpoint. There! Her pink hair sways in the breeze in front of him. It was all a dream after all: he walked away from the camp during his sleep, and she's waiting there for him. _Leila._ She's not dead. He's found her again. _Oh Leila, where were you? It was all so dark, and you were nowhere to be seen._

Matthew picks up his pace, begins to run towards her. _You're alive!_

"Matthew?!" _What? Leila's voice never sounded like that. What could be wrong with her?_ Leila turns to greet him, but she's not Leila after all.

"How could you run off like that? I needed someone to help dye my hair. As it is, I had to do it myself, and then I got called out by the tactician to greet you! I'm a noble; I shouldn't have to-" He pushes past Serra, but she won't let him be; she seizes his arm.

"How dare you ignore me? You ungrateful-" She is cut off once again, as he turns to face her, and she looks into his eyes. Matthew's pupils have swelled so much that they almost cover his irises, black holes leading through to a terrible void. His eyes are twitching, as if searching for an escape, and even the insensitive Serra, as a cleric and therefore a healer, knows that there is something horribly wrong. She lets go of his arm and backs off, still staring at those distorted eyes, too frightened to run.

"Dead…" Matthew's words come as a hiss.

"I…I beg your pardon…?" Stunned into shocked horror, her mouth issues an automatic response before her mind can intervene.

"There is no pardon for the dead. Not for her!" He breaks the eye contact, flees to his tent. Serra merely stands there, shakily. Only when Erk comes to investigate does she move, begging him to summon the lords, the tactician, anyone. For the first time, she knows what it is to fear one who was once her friend.

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Um...please...review...?


	3. Chapter 3: Cassandra

Thank you so much, Herr Wozzeck! I now know about the accent options! Once I was told about the 'ny' sounding accent, I asked my friend about them. And, after staring at me as if I was a complete idiot, she told me how to get every accent. And so, to prove my newfound prowess with accents...I sent Herr Wozzeck a review reply...with an umlaut in it! I know...I'm shameless, aren't I? Oh, and by the way, I wrote this chapter at 11:00 at night. Any inconsistency in the story is not my fault. Please just notify me of it in a review or something, or I won't know to correct it.

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Eclipsedragon does not own Fire Emblem or anything else.

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Matthew stands in the middle of his tent, huffing and surveying all that is around him. He knows already that he will have to leave Marquess Ositia and his army, although it will be traitorous to do so. But he has to go prepared; has to bring provisions enough to keep him well for the journey to the Dragon's Gate, where his enemy undoubtedly awaits. For the return journey, he packs nothing: after all, what would be the point when there will be no return journey? Matthew will go to avenge Leila, and then, when he has completed his task, he will join her in death, and they will be together forever. There is no other future for him.

Where are his lockpicks? He scans the tent – and that is how he sees her once again. Right there, perched upon a pile of his clothes. Watching him. Smiling at him. This time, it isn't Serra. This time, it's really her! He reaches out to her – and suddenly, she's not there anymore. Gone. He forces himself to relax – it's one of her spying tricks, that's all. She always was better than him at learning these things. He doesn't blink when she appears again, right behind him.

"Matthew…" Her smile has gone, and she looks troubled. Are those tears? She can't be crying – Matthew knows that Leila never cries.

"Leila? Leila, what's wrong?"

"Don't hurt them! Forget, just don't hurt them!" The scene changes before his eyes. His tent is gone: swept away by the confusion of the battle suddenly surrounding him. He's fighting people, people he should know, but he can't remember their names, only the one name that echoes through his skull, drawing him to the promise of death, sharpening the pain in his heart. Another flash of pain, a red mist rising before his eyes. A girl attacks from the sky, white wings suddenly beside him as mauve hair flies in his face. Her lance punches through his left arm. In a rage, Matthew strikes out at her. He must have hit an artery – blood fountains from her side. A blue haired man sees this: his roar echoes across the plains.

"Florina!" Beside him, Leila is crying again: not silent tears now, but harsh, desperate sobs.

"Matthew, stop it! They're your friends: you swore to help them! You joined Marquess Ositia to save us all!" The blue haired man - Marquess Ositia, he remembers now – is charging at him, axe raised. His gaze flicks past the lord's attack, to catch on a girl in a cleric's uniform. She's staring straight into his eyes, and suddenly it all comes back to him. They were his friends. _They were his friends!_ Oh Elimine, what has he done?

Matthew slumps to his knees, waiting for the attack he knows is coming. Cold steel bites into his shoulder. He can hear the sound of his flesh splitting; feel his veins pumping yet more blood into the wound. It's no more than he deserves, he thinks. He's already covered in blood; a murderer. He betrayed them.

Suddenly, the vision recedes. He's back in his own tent once again, with the dreadful fear of death hanging like a cloud over him. Matthew begins to pack with renewed vigour. _After all, if he's far enough away from them, he can't harm them, right?_ **Such irony.**

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"Serra, you're telling me you woke us all up for a meeting because _Matthew's eyes looked strange?_" Hector glares at the girl before him, blinking sleep from his own eyes.

"No! I mean, yes, but this wasn't just _strange_! He's dangerous! When he looked at me, just for a moment, I couldn't see Matthew. I saw…I can't explain it; I just know there was something wrong!" She's struggling helplessly for words. Sir Oswin raises a hand.

"He's lost someone he loved, Serra. People are always a little strange whilst grieving. I'm sure he'll be better in time." That calmness has always irked her. Now, at a time of crisis, when she knows that inaction will condemn Matthew, she herself can do nothing against it, now that Oswin's reason has convinced all the others. Her stammered protests have no ground, and she is left to stare helplessly at the fire.

"Um…Serra?" Priscilla is making her way back from her tent, concern showing in her face. "You didn't seem quite yourself when you were speaking to Lord Hector, and your face was pale. Are you coming down with something?" Serra suddenly has an idea. If anyone can see the truth, Priscilla, as another healer, albeit one less experienced than her, can.

"Priscilla! You have to see Matthew! You're a healer – you'll know something's wrong with him too!"

"What?" Serra drags her at high speed towards Matthew's tent, and peeps through the door. Suddenly, she flings it open and steps inside. Priscilla stumbles in too – when faced with an iron grip like Serra's, there is no choice – and is greeted with the sight of a completely empty tent. Matthew's belongings have all gone, and more importantly, so has he.

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A man, standing watch over an army camp. A shadow in the trees behind him. An unsheathed blade; the same man turning, surprised. Blood, spattering onto the fallen leaves.

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"I'm sorry…I had to silence you somehow. You'll survive this wound. I had to do it…for Leila's sake."

"Holy Saint Elimine…he's run away!"

"Who's standing watch tonight? We have to alert them!"

"Merlinus…"

"What? That merchant?" Their footsteps echo on the ground, hurrying to the silhouette of a caravan in the night. Suddenly, Serra halts abruptly. Priscilla almost runs into her, but stops as she sees what has caught Serra's attention. A frozen face, staring up at them from the ground. Blue hair, shining black in the night with blood. Merlinus.

"Eeeeeeeeeek!"

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Yes, I know cliffhangers are evil. After proclaiming my utter hatred for them, I go and write one in...This makes me a hypocrit, doesn't it? Well...review, and you get to find out what happens next! Oh, and please have a happy new year! 


	4. Chapter 4: The Bells of War

Once again, I'm sorry this chapter is so short, and so...unpolished. I'll edit it a little when I have time, I swear, but I have been (and still am) snowed under with life in general, and extra maths in particular. I hate maths! If it could be personified, I would kill it! Also, my writing style is very different, since I'm still recovering from a terrible case of writer's block. Hopefully it'll go back to normal soon.

Oh, and BTW: I decided to kill Merlinus off after all, rather than letting him survive. Also, if you're confused about why Erk knows so much about law, the FE7 definition of 'mage' says 'masters of justice'. So I'm guessing that Erk (and Pent) would have had to sit in on many trials and things. As well, after this chapter, this fic is going to deviate from the game plotline even more than it already has. Okay, now I've said what I wanted to say, please enjoy the fic!

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Eclipsedragon does not own Fire Emblem or anything else mentioned here.

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Lady Macbeth Chapter 4: The Bells of War

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After the initial discovery, things began to move very quickly indeed. Guards were chosen from the ragtag army and set up around the camp, each well within the sightline and earshot of at least two others. The entrance to Merlinus' wagon was sealed, lest there be any clues inside.

Guy, by now an expert on wounds, and Erk, who, being a mage, had been educated in many of the finer aspects of justice and law, were sent to inspect the body, whilst Serra and Priscilla explained what they had seen to the Lords and the tactician.

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From above, the camp might have resembled a disturbed ants' nest: a mass of tent - cloth and mud, complete with frightened, scurrying inhabitants, gradually assembling in front of the largest tent.

A bleary-eyed Hector stood to address the crowd of humanity before him.

"As you know, things happened last night that have caused us to seal the camp. The merchant Merlinus has been murdered, -" Here, some members of the army gasped at his bluntness, but he waved for their silence. "-and one of our most treasured soldiers and spies, Matthew, has vanished. Although there is no evidence to connect these two crimes-" He was cut off once again as Erk raised a hand.

"Your pardon, Lord Hector, but we believe that there is." Hector raised an eyebrow, presumably too exhausted to do anything else, and said,

"Continue." A haggard – looking Guy was the next to speak.

"The injuries that killed Merlinus: Matthew caused them. I'd know his style anywhere." The camp subsided into mutters of disbelief, but was silenced once again when Erk spoke.

"I wouldn't have believed it either, but I too have fought alongside Matthew, and I also recognise this style of fighting. I remember noticing that he used a different type of strike when he only intended to injure an enemy, usually causing a gash across their stomach, as opposed to a jab to the heart when he wanted to kill them. It would be very hard for anyone to copy his technique. The wounds given to Merlinus were the very same as the ones caused by Matthew when he wished only to disable an opponent, but done with such strength that they killed anyway." Guy bowed, suppressed tears beginning to gather in the corners of his eyes.

"On my honour as a Sacaen, I have told no lie. If this tongue has ever spoken an untruth, may great Hanon of the rolling plains cut it out." Rath, standing in the crowd, noted that Guy was quoting Sacae's code of honour, and nodded to Lyn, who knew the significance of the words, and mouthed 'I know,' at him, before signalling for those who were not Lords or the tactician to leave. As the army filed out, Hector could not help but hear Guy's muttered comment.

"I don't understand…Matthew was my best friend…"

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Please spare a thought for Guy - his best friend's betrayed him, and now, since Sacaens never lie, he has to prove that the said friend killed Merlinus!


	5. Chapter 5 : Choices

Wow, that's so freaky...I said in the latest review reply that the next chapter would take a while. And it ended up getting loaded TWO DAYS AFTER I SAID THAT! But it has been a while since my last actual update...

Okay, you remember last chapter, when I said that this fic was going to deviate from the plot of FE in a MAJOR way? That would be what's happening during this chapter. And, probably, during the rest of the fic. Oh, and just to let you know, the last chapter's going to have part of a song posted in it – the song that gave me the idea for this fic. Which song? It's a mystery for now. Hee hee hee…

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Eclipsedragon owns nothing mentioned here.

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And now, three nights later…

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Matthew curses his ill luck as he kills yet another morph, watching golden eyes dull and black blood seep into the soil. At first, as he crept further and further away from the camp, he found it useful to travel by night, with human eyes growing weary and clouded then, but now, with non-humans being a completely different kettle of fish… **_Damn those morphs and their night vision!_** It would be so very useful if he could have the ability to see the enemy even in the dark. Wait…maybe…

Matthew stares at the corpse of his latest victim, something that was never truly alive, contemplating, and feeling an odd sort of kinship. At last, he reaches a decision. Bending down, he dips his hand into the last of the quintessence-enriched blood before it can return to the earth, standing again a minute later, his hand newly bloodied. He hesitates for a moment, sensing the energy of life in its purest form even through his stained hand, then seizes a leather gourd, full of clean water. Untying the neck of the gourd, he holds his hand over the sparkling aqua…

…and watches the quintessence drip into his only source of drinking water, remembering what he had heard whilst he had been eavesdropping on Canas. Before, he'd labelled it as useless, but now…

"**_Quintessence has the power to strengthen all creatures…to enhance all abilities, and to enable them to wreak destruction far beyond their natural capability…_**

…_**at the cost of their humanity…"**_

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Wings in the forest, soft voices discussing missions, and enemies, and tactics. Unnoticed in the darkness, lantern light glints off eyes, the one they belong to hidden in the undergrowth. A smirk passes across the unseen one's face. **_Those who are strong together will not always be so when they are alone._** He – _it?_ thinks, and smirks again. **_So separate them…and then kill those…MURDERERS!_**

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Early morning now, in the camp, when sleepy minds and wary eyes see two sets of wings beating overhead. The alarm sounds, and the army assemble, waiting to see if these two are friend or foe. At last they land: two wyverns, one bearing a man with a shock of green hair, and the other with what appears to be a bundle of cloth and armour. Rebecca and Wil prepare to shoot: the man holds up his hand, and shouts desperately "Ally! Ally!". Lyn gives the signal for him to dismount and approach slowly: he does so. As he steps closer, they can see that his face is tearstained, anxious.

"Please, you have to get a healer! Co-Commander Vaida is injured – she -"

"Commander…Vaida? Where is she?" Lyn can see no-one other than the man himself.

"Here!" The bundle of cloth on the second wyvern stirs, and a woman, dressed in the livery of Bern's wyvern riders, and bleeding heavily from a stomach wound, eerily similar to that on Merlinus' corpse. Lyn gasps, shouting for Priscilla and Serra: the two scuttle to the front of the crowd of people. When Vaida sees them, she scowls irritably and coughs, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth. With Marcus' help, she is carried away to the healers' tent, with Serra rushing ahead for a mend staff.

Once satisfied that Vaida will be taken care of, Heath allows himself to be led to the tactician's tent, where every important conference is held. As he sits in the tent, ready to answer their questions, his forehead wrinkles in worry. **_Commander…_**

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Don't worry - Vaida's not going to die. And I'm not going to suddenly bring every single FE character into this fic - I just decided to bring those two in. Don't worry - Heath'll say why they were there in the next chapter.

Bye for now, and please review!


	6. Chapter 6: The Lost Ones

This may sound really random to you, but it's actually VERY good advice: If you ever go on a package holiday to India like I did, (and I would recommend it – India is WAY understated, and it's absolutely stunning) PRAY that you will not have a bad reaction to the malaria tablets you'll have to take, because if you do have a bad reaction, then you too will have to experience the joy of feeling ill all night after taking the tablets. And if you suddenly think 'blow this for a game of soldiers, I'm sick of feeling sick,' and stop taking them, there's a big chance that you'll get malaria and die. Or at least feel even worse than you already did, which is no easy task. So you basically have no choice, and have to keep taking the stupid things and feeling ill. Argh. But even now, I'd say it was worth it. You don't get the atmosphere of the Taj Mahal in photos – you have to be there. And when you are – wow. That's all I can say.

Anyway, this chapter is largely Heath explaining what he was doing on Valor to Lyn, Hector, Eliwood, and, of course, the amazing, all - seeing…TACTICIAN!!! Who hardly appears in this fic. (laugh) Oh, and by the way…this is your last warning…I did say the plot was going to differ…

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Immediately after he steps into the tent, the tactician asks Heath to tell them his story from the beginning, with no interruptions. Heath pauses for a little while, if only to get his thoughts in order, and then begins.

"The Commander and I...were originally Wyvern Knights of Bern. As I'm sure you are aware, the Black Fang…have been aiding our King for a while now. I don't know the exact details of the work they did – we were only told that they helped to put down a rebellion on one of Bern's borders. However, in doing so, they lost sixteen of their flying units, and so, in return, the king agreed to send sixteen of Bern's own wyvern riders to them as 'goodwill gifts'…like we were only weapons to be used. My colleagues and I…hated that decision. In joining the army, we had pledged all to King Desmond, and it seemed almost as if he was discarding us. Still, he had complete control over us, and so we had to obey.

"After we were enlisted as members of the Fang, Sonia, the leader's wife, sent us to this island, saying that we were to be placed under the control of a man named Nergal. Our first orders from him were to form a reconnaissance patrol with the purpose of scouting the island for intruders and reporting back to his subordinate, Uhai – pretty much the same sort of work I'd been given in Bern's army. We began to settle into our new jobs.

"However, after a while Commander Vaida and I realised that something strange was happening to our comrades. Every day, two riders from our patrol were sent to speak to him. When they returned, they were…very different from when they had set out. Men who had spoken with me about Bern, shared my hope that one day we might return to live there again, cared no more for their homeland. All that mattered to them was that we all followed Nergal's orders. Before, their voices had been animated when they spoke – now they were flat and expressionless. Commander Vaida and I couldn't understand it. We reasoned that it might not have been Nergal; that the men were just suffering from exhaustion. But it kept happening.

"Eventually, the Commander and I were the only ones who hadn't been sent for. It was the ninth day of our stay on Valor - nobody had been summoned on the first day - and we knew that it was getting to the time when Nergal would send someone to fetch us. But before Nergal could send for us, Marquess Darin himself came rushing into our camp in a panic. We were told that a highly dangerous enemy was loose on the island. The Marquess said that they had no description as of yet, but that it made no difference – we must scout the island immediately and report any strange things we might see, no matter what they were. We equipped ourselves with the strongest weapons we could find, just in case, and headed out.

"When we were over some ruins approximately two hours' flight – three days' walk, since there were so many obstacles on the ground – north, Commander Vaida saw a flash of red on the ground. We descended to take a closer look, and found Lord Aion – another member of the Fang – dead, surrounded by the corpses of his soldiers. A thick trail of blood led us into the nearby woods – it seemed to us that whoever had attacked them had escaped that way, and was severely wounded. The Commander and I were leading the others. Eventually, the trail just petered out, as though the injured person had vanished. When we turned to retrace our steps, we found that it wasn't the only thing that had disappeared – so had our comrades. A search of the surrounding area yielded nothing. It wasn't until we got back to the ruins that…that we found…their bodies…" Heath is silent for a while, remembering: at Eliwood's questioning look, he continues.

"As Commander Vaida bent to inspect them, I saw a figure behind her. I shouted and she spun round, but he'd already stabbed…I threw my lance at him, striking him in the arm. He ran off, and I grabbed the Commander. I'd heard that there was a Fang camp nearby, so I went to search for it and…saw you. You're obviously not Fang, but…if you can heal Commander Vaida, I'll fight with you."

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Um…thanks for reading, and please review! I'll update when I can, but I can't promise anything...sorry. 


	7. Chapter 7: Those Who Fall Into The Dark

It was the writers' block again…Sorry. But I did say I WOULD NOT abandon this fic, even if it took a while to get the next chapter out. And I spent the time I had writers' block for THIS chapter planning out the final chapter and epilogue, so it wasn't like it was a waste of time or anything…I apologise for the wait, though.

A while ago – oh, all right, ages ago – I got a review asking me whether this would be Heath/Vaida. I'm just confirming that it won't be, since this chapter could be taken as a little Heath/Vaida-ish. But…I'm just writing it as friendship. Somehow, I like trying to write in little things about friendship, and I think it's nice just trying to show their closeness in the fic. (Huh?) I'm not sure if that's successful, though, and it is quite a complicated friendship, since there's quite a lot of respect (on Heath's part, anyway), and also Vaida's 'get lost' attitude. Plus I see her as more of an eccentric 'aunt' figure. A kind of…evil…eccentric aunt, though… ; p

Also, the spacing's a little messed up. doesn't seem to be agreeing with my computer at the moment...

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Chapter 7: Those who fall into the dark.

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Two days later, Heath stands guard outside the camp, along with an almost-healed Vaida. Although the wyvern knight still suffers a little pain when she bends, and the scar might never fade, the healers' staves have done much to speed up her recovery, and she had insisted the previous day that she be involved in both fighting and guard work, despite Heath's obvious alarm. Now, he approaches her, confused as to why she seems so angry with him. 

"Ah…Commander?"

"What do you want?!"

"Are you sure you should be helping? Aren't you still injured?"

"I'm fine! When have I ever needed your opinion?"

"…" Heath merely stands there, waiting and listening. It's a technique that has never failed to work on her, and eventually, she roars out at him:

"It's all your fault, anyway! What'd you get us involved with them for?" Heath speaks in the same calm tone he always uses during one of her moods.

"If I hadn't, you'd have died."

"And? You should have just left me behind. Then you could've reported back to the Fang, kept serving Bern. But no, you…helped…me. You know what this means?" Heath is silent. He knows from experience that speaking will only infuriate her more. "Well? I'll tell you. You broke the oaths we took to Bern, to the Black Fang, and to King Desmond. You outlawed both me and yourself from Bern forever, and gave us both the name of deserters. Got anything to say about that?"

"I wasn't going to leave you to die, Commander! You're the best wyvern rider in years. You're famed for your fighting, and your command abilities. And you're...my friend." Vaida's expression has softened a little, although her scowl still remains: the combination of flattery and affection has worked, and she merely slaps him lightly on the side of his head, muttering under her breath.

"You're too sentimental, boy." She's repeated the same words countless times to him, and so Heath smiles, knowing he's been forgiven. The expression does not go unnoticed by Vaida, who slaps his head a little harder this time.

"Eh…What're you looking so soppy for? Back to guard duty with you, recruit!' They pass the rest of their time on guard duty in companiable silence. True, their lives may not be as they had wished, but they are once again friends, and that is enough.

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He is there at last. Matthew stands outside the building that he thinks may house the one he wishes to destroy, staring up at the ornate architecture of a roof meant to shelter those with a height much greater than that of humans. A breeze chills his back: there is a small rustling noise behind him, and suddenly he is not alone. He tries to spin; to take a dagger from his cloak, but he cannot move. 

"So, you have come to avenge her?" The voice is harsh, yet quiet, and a piece of bloodstained, dark fabric – a cape? – flutters past him in the wind. He tries to speak, and, to his surprise, finds that he can.

"How do you know?" A laugh from behind him.

"When you consumed the quintessence, hoping to be given greater strength in return, you left your soul open for the master of that morph, whose quintessence you took, to see. But I am not the one you seek to kill. You are looking for one of my servants." Rage fills him. This man knows the murderer! He knows where Matthew must go, then, for his revenge!

"Where is he?"

"I will tell you, in good time. But you have neither the strength nor the speed to defeat him, and that is why I am here. You see, I would like to make a deal with you. I will give you the power to kill this man, but only if you agree to certain conditions. To gain this power, you will need to sacrifice more of your soul. And before I allow you to kill him, there are certain lives I would like you to end for me, with this same power. If you succeed in this, I may even be able to return Leila to you."

Matthew needs no further persuading. If Leila can return, then it will all be worth it. Everything will be all right, with her alive again. And so he agrees. The man – for he now sees who he was speaking to – walks in front of him, and holds up his hands, muttering. Even as Matthew feels fresh strength empowering him, he also feels his emotions beginning to leave him – a little less happiness at the thought of Leila's return, a little less guilt about his attack on Merlinus. His memories of those he left behind begin to fade: a blue-haired man wielding an axe; a calm Ositian knight; a young lord, intent on finding his father, fencing with a nomad-girl with long, green hair and a sacred blade – all these flash before his eyes, and are gone. The last image he remembers is that of a pink-haired cleric, loud, but kind-hearted, sitting on a fence and waiting for his return. And then all is gone but Leila's name, and all that his heart carries is her face.

He listens to the instructions on where to find the people he must kill to regain Leila, accepts the company of morphs who will fight with him, and checks his weapons before setting out, heart cold. His only wish is to see Leila again, and, for that, he will do anything. Behind Matthew, waiting like a vulture at the entrance to the Dragon's Gate, is the man. The loose end of his turban sweeps back, revealing a horribly scarred face, as he speaks.

"Beware, young thief. For I am Lord Nergal, and those you will be killing were once your comrades!" And Nergal's exultant laughter rings throughout the Dragon's Gate.

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Ugh...I think I've been translating too many Ancient Greek scripts lately...it seems like this is in a weird mixture of their style and my own. Also, whilst I was writing this, 'Nergal's Wrath' kept playing in my head. But it really sounds more...exultant...than wrathful, doesn't it? Thus the use of the word 'exultant' in the last sentence. (laughs) My mind works in reeeeally strange ways...I blame the hyperness. Anyway, until the next chapter, and thank-you to those who are reading this, as well as to those who both read and review! Eclipsedragon 


	8. Chapter 8: Despairing Hearts

Eclipsedragon does not own Fire Emblem, or, sadly, a pet penguin. Ah...Life is unfair, it seems...

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After a recent mispronunciation, it struck me how much 'Serra and Erk' sounds like 'Error and Smirk'. Oh deary, deary me… XD

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Lady Macbeth, Chapter Eight: Fallen Hearts.

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The sight of the clear plain stretched out before him, with a rough circle of patched tents in the far distance, worries Matthew, insofar as he can worry, now. As a spy, he is used to night-attacks in small groups, if not alone; working by stealth, with little manpower to rely on, or, as of late, being directed in battle by someone whose face he cannot remember, alongside those who he used to know, but whose memories have left him. He has never before directed a battle himself, and the plain surrounding his enemies, with its flat terrain and its lack of trees and rocks, offers nowhere to hide from his foes, and it is all too obvious that the morphs following him would have no skill for ambushes. It seems that his only option is a straightforward attack. All the same, he decides to wait for the cover of night to attack, as, whilst the darkness will not affect him or his morphs, it will cloud his enemies' vision, and a blinded foe, his profession has taught him, is already half-defeated.

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Erk watches Serra sitting outside the camp, taking her turn to guard it with Lowen, who seems grateful for her newfound silence. Since Matthew's betrayal, the cleric has stopped her regular complaints and requests for vassals, and Erk notices that she is less well groomed than usual, with unwashed hair and dark rings around her eyes. Twice, Lucius, seeing her sadness, has tried to calm her; both times, the bishop, unconvinced but chased away nonetheless by Serra's claims that there is nothing wrong, has been unsuccessful. To his surprise, Erk finds that he misses the louder Serra, annoying though she may be. He, too, has tried to help Serra, only to find himself thinking that, before Matthew's betrayal, she would have declared that the reason for his and Lucius' help was her 'beauty', when now she merely sighs at him, and he misses that arrogance as well. And so Erk sighs in turn… ...only to be silenced when he notices Serra's swollen eyes and the tears rolling down her face…

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Serra doesn't immediately notice when someone sits down next to her; not until she feels the weight of the arm slung around hers, and sees the handkerchief being offered to her, and hears his sobs, almost as quiet as her own. She looks round, and sees dark violet hair hanging around a face covered by a hand, from under which tears are leaking as Erk cries with her.

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Later, as night settles over the camp, Matthew and the other morphs, able to creep closer as the shadows grow to hide them, stand only a furlong away from their foes. They wait for the time just before dawn, for then the sky will be at its darkest, moon obscured by the clouds that have been looming all day. This, when their enemies are tired and disorientated, will be the perfect time for an attack. Matthew watches the moon as it traces its leisurely path through the sky, but his thoughts do not dwell on it. He thinks, instead, of Leila's imminent return. For some reason, his fading heart tells him that she will be deeply sad – not heartbroken, for he no longer understands the meaning of that word - at the killings he must commit to return her to life, and he wonders why. In the flesh, he decides, all people are the same, and therefore replaceable. But he fails to consider the soul, and fails to think of the true result of what he has done and will yet do. After all, even if he can revive her, he has sacrificed so much of his human heart; lost so much of his empathy, that he has already condemned their love. The meaning of the emotion he used to treasure was lost to him the moment he agreed to work with Nergal. But he does not even realise this, lost as he is, and, though her name and face still ring in his heart, it is as his life's duty, and not as his love.

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Arrgh…I…I don't believe it…I…I wrote…F-F-F-FLUFF!!! Even if it was only a small part of the chapter…What is happening to me?! Am I slowly being possessed by some random fluffy pathogen?! But wait…I wrote that semi-fluffy Fruits Basket ficlet too, a while back…This is too confusing, although I guess I wanted to get Serra and Erk's relationship in somehow…Maybe I should just stop soliloquising… Oh, and once again, the spacing's messed up. Augh... 


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